Stray Thoughts
by TheDevilYouDon't
Summary: Harry and Hermione and their pillow talk. H/Hr.


**Disclaimer: It's pretty obvious that I'm not being paid for this, since you can find it on a free website for free. Key word: free. These characters belong to those more fortunate than us and I'm just playing with them temporarily to amuse both myself and you. **

**A/N: This is actually an idea based on thoughts I've had myself, although I do blame lack of sleep for the initial formation of said thought.**

**:::**

_Stray Thoughts_

**:::**

"What are you doing?" she whispers with a laugh in the dark bedroom.

He's got his lips behind her ear and she's trying not to get lost in the sensation of such an act because it's late and they're still naked under the sheets, having already finished doing…_that._

(she doesn't say it in her head or aloud even though Ron always says that, if she's doing it, she should be able to say it)

She feels and hears him chuckle simultaneously and he pulls himself back up, away from her ear. In the bit of light coming from the streetlights outside, she sees his eyes shining down at her in that way she knows means he's happy, and she smiles. He's lying on his side just beside where she's on her back, head pressed into the firm cushioning of her pillow. One arm is bent at an angle to keep him upright, but he brings the other one up to her upper arm, and rubs the flat of his palm over her skin, making her shiver.

"It's just weird," he tells her and she doesn't know what he means.

"What's weird?" Worry might have plagued her in their first, or even second, year of marriage, but after three and a half years, she's stopped even bothering.

(but it's such an odd thing to say)

"You are." There's silence after he says this and she looks at him with as much shock as she could relay without either of them being able to see very well. He must pick up on the mood, though, because he laughs almost immediately. "Not like that. That's not what I meant."

She raises her shoulder a bit and bumps him with it playfully. "What _did_ you mean, then?"

She can hear him smiling for a second or two before he draws a breath to answer. "I just…I looked at you for almost eight years, all these parts of your body—normal ones—without even thinking anything about them. But now…five years later, I've touched all of you, kissed most of you, and done unspeakable things to the rest."

"I'm not sure I get it," she admits with a small frown. She understands some of what he's saying, but not what his point is.

He sighs and shifts a little. "Like…that spot right behind your ear that you like so much. Before we were an _us_, I might have looked at that spot without a thought about it. Or maybe I didn't think anything of it at all. But now…now I know that kissing you there is one of the fastest ways to get you out of your clothes," he explains.

"Hey," she says, blushing in the darkness and swatting his arm. But she's starting to get what he's saying.

"And your hands. Over those eight years, I'd looked at your hands, maybe even touched them. But here were are now and you've touched me all over with those same hands I never used to pay any attention to."

"You've been thinking about this a lot?" She brings one of her hands up to his forehead, trailing her fingertips over it before resting her hand on his cheek, brushing across what little stubble is there for a moment.

"Not really. Just tonight." The hand he has placed on her arm moves to her stomach. She jumps in shock at his touch there, but calms quickly.

(in the dark, she hadn't been able to see where his hand had been heading)

"All of this, though," he says and, were there more light, she's sure she would have seen a gesture at her entire body for emphasis on his point. "I never thought about a lot of you for a long time. Thinking about you now, though…"

She hears his voice lower as he says the last part and she smiles a little. He's getting excited again. Twice in one night.

(something that doesn't happen often, but is always a happy surprise for both of them)

"I know what you mean," she says.

She does, too. Now that he's explained it. For one, there's his lips. When they were in school, she hadn't thought twice about his lips. Now, she can't go a day without touching them in some way.

(whether in a simple kiss or when they trail down her body after the sun's gone down)

There's also his chest. It seemed ordinary just five years ago, but her head has rested on it more times than she can count since then. His back, too, which never crossed her mind before. But, in the in between time, her nails have dug into them so often that she's surprised he doesn't have permanent scars there.

And then there's his eyes. For the first eight years she knew him, they'd looked at her so often, sometimes so platonically—or so it seemed—that she never gave it a second thought. One look from him now, though, can send her mind reeling, her world spinning, make her stomach knot.

(just like it had when the _us _part of them began)

He nods under the hand she still has rested on his face. "Weird, isn't it?" he asks and she agrees.

"A little bit," she says quietly, her mind still going through her memories of being with him before they were together.

They lie back to sleep a little later, his arms around her and her head on his chest.

(like all those countless times it's rested there before)

"Harry?" she asks after a few moments of peaceful silence.

He hums a happy sound that vibrates her head as it makes its way through his chest and she can tell without being able to see him that his eyes are closed and he's smiling again. "Yes, Hermione?"

"Does it bother you?" Her voice is a little tentative, which certainly isn't a new sound for her.

(just not typically when she's with him)

"Does what bother me?" She frowns a little because he can be so perfectly clueless sometimes.

"Over-analyzing things like…parts of us we didn't use to pay attention to?"

He rests his chin on her head and rubs his hand down the length of her arm and it's her turn to close her eyes and smile. "Not at all." He pauses for a second before asking, "Does it bother _you_?"

"Of course not," she tells him.

She's always over-analyzing things anyway. What's one more thing?

Part of her wants to tilt her head up to look at him, but she knows that, in the complete blackness of their room, she'd see next to nothing. Certainly not anything she'd be able to make out clearly, anyway. She doesn't mind that, either, though.

It just makes her think about how many more nights they'll spend, holding each other in the dark. It just makes her think about happiness.

(which now means _him, _and _this_, and _them_)

_**fin**_


End file.
